


Confidence Game

by raphae11e



Category: Scarface (1932), oh god no one has ever written anything for this help - Fandom
Genre: (mostly just mentioned or hinted at), Clothed Sex, Frottage, Gangsters, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23644957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raphae11e/pseuds/raphae11e
Summary: Everybody says, "Tony Camonte, he's a big shot. He's got everything he wants." Yeah. I got everything BUT what I want. You understand?(This is some gayass shit for 1932 babeyyyy)
Relationships: Antonio "Tony" Camonte/Guino Rinaldo
Kudos: 6





	Confidence Game

**Author's Note:**

> Wow okay. Bitches really be out here writing fic for a film that came out like ninety years ago. 
> 
> I'm bitches.
> 
> I hope someone else gets enjoyment out of this fic, even if they don't know what the fuck I'm talking about! Cause hey, everybody likes 1920s gangsters right?? A top tier aesthetic. >;^) And if you DO happen to know what the fuck I'm talking about, then hit me up because holy shit! Ahhhhhhh!!! Scarface!!!!!!!!!!!

It was never hard to keep tabs on Tony Camonte. He entered a room with all the subtlety of spitting gunfire, flurried motion and pinstripe, left people dizzy in his wake. Guino could spot him from a mile away and, inevitably, Tony would spot him too, the pull of it like a fish hook under his ribcage. There was always something Tony had to tell him, wanted him to do, wanted him to watch over. Tony had a use for everyone, especially his friends. 

It was never hard to keep tabs on Tony Camonte. Except when it was.

The night Tony killed Louis Costillo, Guino was waiting outside with their ride. He didn’t see anything until a chill hit him and a shadow stretched over the moonlit street. Bled right out of the dark like an arterial stain. When Tony got into the car, there wasn’t a drop of red on him, and his smile showed all his teeth.

“That’s it,” he’d said. “That’s our ticket in.”

A better boss meant better gigs, which meant larger, fancier parties. The crowd tonight was a lively one, the air full of smoke and laughter. Guino enjoyed the atmosphere of nights like these, despite the jokes Tony often made. “Just sittin’ there watching everybody, barely touchin’ your drink,” he’d said earlier in the evening. “What, you stuck on someone?” It was a light-hearted dig that had Guino rolling his eyes; not everyone was as interested in being a womanizer as Tony, believe it or not. Being  _ stuck on  _ someone wasn’t such a harsh sentence. Obviously. That is, if there was anyone fitting that bill-- which there wasn’t. Naturally. 

Most women he met at these sorts of events he kept at arm’s length, anyway. Surface level intimacy was fleeting, but simple. Whoever he brought home for a night or two wasn’t expected to stick around. A simple, clean, efficient arrangement. He had bigger things on his mind.

And so did Tony, in his own way. Tonight it was harder to keep track of him than usual, but every once in a while Guino would catch a glimpse. He tried piecing together his friend’s progress across the dance hall: first talking to some wealthy kingpin with a cigar in hand, then a whole gaggle of women dressed in nothing but sequins. A few of their own men intercepted him briefly afterwards, no doubt trying to get on their lieutenant’s good side, and then… Poppy. 

It wasn’t hard to understand what Tony saw in her. She was awfully comfortable with their way of life, and exuded an air of such careful disinterest that it had to be an act-- but she played the part well. Plus, she was Johnny’s girl, which made her even more unattainable. Tony always loved a challenge.

Guino put out his cigarette with perhaps more force than necessary. He needed a distraction.

Fortunately, he was considered important enough to the South Side that he got a decent amount of attention even when not at Tony’s right hand. No doubt someone would catch his eye soon enough. He made his way across the room, weaving through groups and catching snippets of their conversations as he went: a few words, a name, a laugh. It all blended together into a great miasma of noise, after a while. That dull roar lessened as he made it out into the foyer. Valets and hosts stood quietly by and waited for someone to beckon; couples tucked themselves into alcoves and tried their hardest to block out the rest of the world.

Something about the sight left him suddenly bereft. Maybe fresh air was what he needed instead; if he stepped out for a minute he could--

_ “There  _ you are. I’ve been looking for you, you know.”

Guido took a slow, steadying breath through his nose.  _ Of course.  _ “Cesca,” he said as he turned around. And there she stood: hands on her hips, face alight. The gown she’d chosen for the evening glinted brightly enough to put the stars to shame. 

“I wish you’d decided to look for someone else,” he admitted. Cooly, and not at all like his nerves were simmering just beneath the surface of his skin. Talking to Cesca was always stressful; she was very beautiful, for one. She was also Tony’s sister. There was probably something funny about the fact he could get through a shootout just fine, but when it came to the Camontes, he was all but lost. 

At his words, Cesca only pouted. Not genuine in the slightest. “Now, don’t say that. I think we’ve got more chemistry than you want to admit.”

Guido refused to let himself take that bait, even in his own head. “Sure,” he replied, trying to seem offhanded, “but there’s an awful lot of other…  _ conditions  _ to consider.”

Judging by Cesca’s reaction-- the way her gaze lengthened, no longer focused on him but beyond, at some unseen threat-- she understood his meaning perfectly. It wasn’t a secret that Tony was protective, even possessive of her. Nowhere was his anger more intense, more focused, than when it involved Cesca’s many attempted suitors; Guido had witnessed those outbursts firsthand.

He was not at all interested in meeting the same fate.

“Look,” he started, tone pitying in a way he already knew she would hate, “I don’t want no trouble. Things are heating up enough as is around here, with the North Gang eager for a fight. You don’t think I have enough on my plate without starting a fling with Tony’s kid sister?”

They were standing chest to chest before he could blink. “I’m not a  _ kid,” _ Cesca hissed. He could see the stormfront brewing in her eyes, and felt an unexpected tightening in his chest at the familiarity of that look. And predictably,  _ so  _ predictably, it was gone in an instant. She smiled, lips a curved blade, and rested her palms almost gingerly against his chest. As if she were aiming to straighten his lapels, or right his tie. Almost laughingly tender.

She wanted to be someone who he might want. It wasn't hard to arrange that; she was very pretty, as he was all too capable of reminding himself. Dark hair, dark eyes, every sidelong glance pinning him with a whole mess of emotions. Guino wondered what she'd look like with a scar across her cheek.

And at that, with great effort, he stopped himself.

For a moment they just stood there, near stock still, appearing like so many of the other couples filling the room, breathing one another’s air. The muffled beat of a new song filtered in from the ballroom. Finally, Cesca saw fit to break the tension. 

“You like this music?” she asked, stepping away from him, leaving palpable relief in her wake. “Finally willing to dance with me?”

Guino looked at her, swaying so gently in time with the tune, and realized he’d made up his mind. “No, Cesca.”

The rejection washed over her slowly, and when it finally sunk in, her response was again uncanny. “What,” she exclaimed, startling a few of their bystanders, “you  _ afraid _ of me? Afraid of Tony’s  _ kid sister?”  _ Her painted lips curled into a snarl, the kind of expression Guino often saw before someone took a knife to the throat or a bullet to the brain. “Well one day you’ll be  _ sorry,”  _ she seethed at him. _ “ _ You’ll realize just what you’re missin’ out on.”

And with that she swept away, no doubt into the arms of an infinitely more eager suitor. It felt a bit like passing the buck. Or maybe a hand grenade.

For once, he forced himself not to dwell on any of that nuance. He left the foyer in the opposite direction, into the din of music and laughter, and very pointedly did not search the room for that infamous scar.

“Telephone for you, Mr. Rinaldo.”

Guino turned, halfway through another whiskey and a heavy-handed compliment to a pair of brunettes (twins!), to see a valet watching him expectantly. Of course now, of all times, was when he got that distraction he’d wanted. “Can it wait?” he asked, trying and failing not to sound put-upon.

The valet shifted uncomfortably. “I’m afraid not, sir.” He beckoned Guino closer, a hand on his shoulder, so he could lean in and add: “It’s Mr. Camonte. Urgent.”

Whatever nagging part of him still wanted to refuse all but disappeared at those words. Even more so once he was led to the venue’s phone, held the receiver to his ear, and heard the voice on the other end.

_ Guino. Come back to my place-- and make it quick. There’s been trouble.  _

“Of course.” After that, the line disconnected with a  _ click.  _

Guino didn’t bother telling anyone where he was going. No one needed to know. Tony always had something under wraps, and he doubted this was an exception-- especially not after recent developments with the North Side. That, and the grainy audio of their call hadn’t been able to hide the intensity in his friend’s voice. Either that was a very good or a very bad sign.

Tony’s apartment was shut up tight when he arrived. Curtains drawn, steel shutters no doubt in place, the works. It took longer than he would’ve liked to be let in-- standing out in the lobby, feeling painfully exposed, facing the glass-paned front door and watching for movement. Then he finally heard the telltale noise of a door unlocking, and there was Tony.

The first thing he noticed was the blood. Not a lot, it didn’t seem, but it stood out bright against the white sleeve of his dress shirt. It wasn’t often that Tony bled.

The second thing he noticed was those eyes.

People always hired Tony-- hired  _ them, _ he supposed-- for their efficiency, and efficiency often required subtlety, or at least a mockery of it, because there was very little that was subtle about killing a man in his hospital bed. But as long as they did the job quick and clean, no one could stop them. And as long as they were feared enough, no one would dare rat them out, either. 

Tony was awfully good at that bit, too. Really putting the  _ fear  _ into people.

Guino wasn’t frequently on the receiving end of that ire. They’d been friends for ages, since before the limelight, before all this dirty work. He was used to the waltz of their relationship. Sometimes, when things were going poorly, and he’d say something just wrong enough, Tony would give him this look. Like his whole face had gone overcast, that scar a lightning strike across his cheek, eyes bright but in a fevered kind of way. But then he’d recover, and the clouds would all but disappear, leaving him to smile or laugh or wave away whatever foul mood had roiled up from inside him in that moment. 

Guino knew what that unpleasantness had led to for others. Truth be told, it never much bothered him.

That is, until now.

“Come on.” Tony gestured to him with a quick jerk of the chin. “‘Fore anyone catches wise.”

The walk up to the apartment was… unpleasant. Even though Guino was the one following Tony, he felt every second like he was being watched; he could almost see Tony listening through the silence, as if he could concentrate hard enough to hear Guino’s thoughts. What was he looking for? For once, Guino was at a loss. He certainly hadn’t ordered whatever violence had led to that bloodshed. Why would he?

Why would Tony  _ think  _ he had?

He didn’t bother trying to voice any of these concerns. Instead, once they were in Tony’s place with the door shut tightly behind them, he asked, “What happened?”

Tony shrugged. Leaned against his frankly monstrous desk, its mahogany grain shining red in the lamplight. “Just some goons in a couple a’ cars,” he replied. “Nearly had me on the ropes for a minute there.”

“Well do you know who sent ‘em?”

Again, a shrug. “I got an idea. Tell you in a minute. But first--” And there it was again, that  _ look,  _ like staring down the barrel of a gun. “Be straight with me now, yeah?” Tony drawled. “No funny business.”

“Sure. What?”

“You got eyes for Cesca? For my baby sister?”

Utterly unsure of how to respond, Guino only stared.  _ This _ was what had been so pressing? …Well, then again, he should’ve known. Only a few hours ago he’d been worried about this very scene playing out. And now, even though he’d been shot, even though people were out for his life now more than ever, this was what Tony chose to fixate on. No one stuck more closely to their morals-- or lack thereof, maybe.

His silence apparently read as confirmation, because next thing he knew, his back was against the door and his lapels in Tony’s fists.

_ “Answer me. _ ” 

“Hey, hey--” Guino resisted the urge to raise his hands in surrender. Something told him it would’ve been like provoking a mad bull. “Listen Tony, is this cause of her talkin’ to me at the Paradise? Cause I wanted no part of that. She’s been after me for weeks now.”

Tony didn’t budge. “You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure! What, would I lie to you?” Surprisingly, he was somehow able to relax, even in that iron grip. “Tony,” he said, quieter, “do you think I would lie to you?”

There it was: the sliver of light through the clouds. Nothing more than that-- Tony still hadn’t let go, and his brow was still furrowed in some conflicted emotion-- but it had dulled. Not-quite-softened.

And then, somehow Tony managed to catch him off guard a second time.

“She don’t mean more to you than me, huh?”

Guino blinked. “Of course not. What makes you thi--”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. Because then Tony was kissing him.

It was, he thought, how he imagined Tony might kiss. That is to say, it was… impatient. But for what? For something that might convince him those words were the truth? For this bout of uncertainty to end, so that he might feel in control again?

_ Damn it all.  _ What did it matter? Guino rested his head against the door, tilted it just so, and let Tony devour him.

“I believe you,” his friend gasped when they broke apart, “I believe you. I just--”

“Just what?” Guino’s hands were starting to cramp up. When had he fisted them in Tony’s vest?

Tony shook him, just once, but this time it didn’t have any bite to it. The same as when they were celebrating a successful hit, or when they’d been younger and had had less serious things on their minds. And there was this light in those eyes now, too-- a pyre that had been lit.

“I’ve got you to myself,” he growled. Hearing it felt like swallowing a mouthful of whiskey. “You’re mine, understand?”

There was so much that Guino could’ve said to that. Instead, he just said, “Okay.”

Though he was ready for it this time, it was still hard to keep up with the hard press of mouth to mouth, the way Tony snarled into the kiss, teeth catching his lower lip and biting down. It made Guino gasp, the sharp, sudden spark of pain. He tried to lean into it, hands sliding down to Tony’s waist-- but Tony caught him at the shoulders and kept him pinned. It seemed so  _ easy _ , and of course he’d always been aware of his friend’s imposing height and build but… but.

_ “Tony,”  _ he said on a sharp inhale, into the meager space between their mouths. 

Surprisingly, the response he got was a laugh. “Yeah,” Tony said. “Yeah, I get you.”

Guino had always wondered why Tony had bought himself a fainting couch. Probably because it was gaudy, and because a lot of the dames they spent the most time with liked gaudy things. To be honest, it looked hard as a rock, too.

And well, it was. But that didn’t bother him much at the moment.

“The thing about these fancy slacks,” Tony was saying, “is they don’t got much friction to ‘em.”

Guino huffed out a strained laugh. He wasn’t particularly interested in arguing the point, especially not with a leg slotted between his own. Their position was a little awkward: Tony on top of him, the two of them crowded into each other’s space, dress shoes pressing into the unforgiving upholstery. It was a minor annoyance though. He was far too focused on the throb he felt every time he rocked his hips, and the way Tony’s thigh forced his own to spread as wide as they could to accommodate him.

That was the thing about Tony though. You always  _ wanted  _ to accommodate him. Out of fear, or otherwise.

“Just--” Guino reached up to wrap a hand over the nape of his friend’s neck, pulling him close. “Just shut up an’--an’ focus, will you?”

Mere inches apart from his own, Tony’s eyes narrowed with a smile. “You think you’re the boss, huh?” he drawled. But before anything more could be said, he obliged.

Tony was single-minded about most everything he wanted. Sex, it seemed, was no exception. Despite them both still being almost fully-clothed, Tony pressed their bodies so tightly, insistently together that the heat was palpable. Guino almost thought he could feel the frantic beating of their hearts. He tilted his head back to bring their mouths together again, jolting at the now-familiar bite of teeth. Tentatively, he allowed his lips to part, and was rewarded with a greedy sound of approval. 

Just as that thigh began to bear down harder, harder, and Guino forced his tongue into Tony’s mouth, a hand slid smooth as silk under his nape and held him there. His breath caught in his throat, body immobilized. The pause was long enough that it gave Tony the upper hand in the kiss, too. Such an  _ ache  _ all of it gave him, bone-deep and persistent. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and hoped his own hands would leave bruises on Tony’s broad back.

But all too quickly, his eyes flew open again as their kiss was broken and another hand grabbed his right leg under the knee. Chills ran up his spine at the sensation of fingers digging into expensive fabric and flesh.

Tony forced his leg to bend however much he (apparently) saw fit, and then he was locked in again. The position made things less clumsy, with the added benefit of…  _ novelty,  _ you could call it.

_ “Oh.”  _ Guino could feel a snarl rising in his own throat as this new leverage allowed him to angle his hips better, hard muscle meeting the heat of his trapped cock again and again. Now he really wished he’d taken off his shirt and slacks, because this was… “Wait,” he wheezed, like all the breath had been punched out of him, “wait, don’t, I’m--”

The hand at Guino’s nape slid to rest over his collarbone instead, the pressure even more acute against those feather-light bones. Tony was still grinning. He looked on with half-lidded eyes, only breaking their gaze to glance down at where he was taking Guino apart. 

“Go on,” he said. Just that.

It was enough. Something red-hot boiled up from his insides, and briefly he wondered if this was how Tony felt when he got that dark look about him, but then he was tipping over the edge and he couldn’t wonder much of anything. 

Like the bright white of muzzle flash, it took his eyes a moment to start working again. The first thing he saw was Tony staring down at him, near perfectly still. Guino could make out the deep rise and fall of his chest. Dazed as he was, and as unpleasant as his damp underclothes were already becoming, it was hard to ignore the hot, heavy weight of the other man between his legs. So he didn’t. Instead, he reached up quick as he could and grabbed Tony by the collar.

That got him a grunt of surprise, and then a muffled laugh as their mouths were mashed awkwardly together. Though the angle was a little uncomfortable, Guino got a hand between their bodies as best he could and fumbled with Tony’s belt. Almost immediately he had two other hands helping eagerly.

Once they’d removed the belt, discarding it somewhere on the couch or floor, it was quick work to unzip the slacks too and reach the body beneath.

The noise Tony made when Guino’s fingers closed around his cock sounded almost wounded. He bucked into that grip immediately, one hand braced on the couch’s arm and the other sliding its way beneath Guino, palm flat against his spine. It was suffocating, but in the kind of way that felt good, made you punch-drunk-- kissing only added to it. The sudden metallic taste of blood let him know Tony had finally broken skin, too, and he exhaled harshly as the pain of it washed over him. His lip would bruise from that. He probably shouldn’t have enjoyed the thought as much as he did.

In the moment, he focused on keeping his grip tight, each stroke smoother than the last, and so  _ slick,  _ like he had Tony’s heart in his hands. Though perhaps the opposite was more true.

When Tony’s movements began to stutter not long after, Guino knew he was close. They’d exhausted themselves with kissing; now, Tony just buried his face in the crook of Guino’s neck, muttering what sounded like a garbled mess of English and their mother tongue. All it took was another twist of his wrist, and it was over. 

Tony went rigid against him, spilling over his fist and panting hard. Guino had just enough mind to be mildly upset at staining his brand new tux-- if it hadn’t been ruined before, it certainly was now. But his annoyance was short-lived as the comfortable haze of afterglow finally outstripped his adrenaline. Apparently the same had happened to Tony; he was all but collapsed on top of Guino. 

It certainly wasn’t a very dignified position for either of them. Suits rumpled, ties lost, Guino’s starched collar feeling like it was trying its hardest to strangle him. When Tony did sit up, he propped himself up against the back of the couch, looking disheveled but self-satisfied. Sweat had made his hair start to fall in curls over his forehead. His slacks had bunched up around his legs, exposing a strip of skin from the hem of his vest to almost his knees. Guino didn’t bother trying to stop himself from eyeing the dark trail that led to Tony’s softening cock, nestled at the joint between hip and thigh.

“Shame,” Tony said with a nod in his direction, dark eyes jumping all over as they took in Guino’s appearance. “You just got that getup, eh?”

Guino snorted. “As if you won’t buy ten more just like it tomorrow morning.”

His friend smiled the way someone might when they were caught in a lie. “Yeah, yeah,” he admitted, with not a trace of guilt, “But that don’t bother you one bit.”

Feigning indifference, Guino just shrugged. The effect was somewhat ruined when he smiled a second later, and Tony laughed, triumphant. His friend righted his clothes just enough, shirt straightened and slacks buttoned, to be able to lean forward, looming over Guino once more. “I’ll buy you fifty more if you give me one of them honey coolers,” he purred.

Only Tony could make buying you out sound romantic, Guino thought. But that didn’t stop him from reaching up with both hands, one thumb against that perfectly placed scar, to pull them together into one more kiss.

Something about this whole encounter had cleared his mind. Smelling salts for the soul, if you will-- at least for a time. When they broke apart, a flash of realization had Guino sliding a hand down Tony’s bicep, coming to rest right over the (dried) bloodstain.  _ Always keeping tabs,  _ he thought,  _ even now. _

“Alright,” he said, “tell me who you think did this.”

Tony’s eyes turned dark again, but this time, he was still smiling.“I’m gonna need your help,” he said. “You’re the only guy I’ve got.”

There was only one way Guino could think to respond: “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who read this, you are a blessed soul and I love you very much! :'^) ♡


End file.
